


Moanin'

by KeiserFranz



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blindfolds, Body Worship, Established Relationship, Insecurity, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Praise Kink, Restraints, Teasing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:15:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27331072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeiserFranz/pseuds/KeiserFranz
Summary: Paul stumbles upon a peculiar sex shop and leaves with a mysterious book, which could help him with stress and other unhealthy coping strategies. With John's help, of course. And maybe it will provide them with answers to questions they haven't dared to ask.
Relationships: John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	Moanin'

Paul's steps echoed through the deserted street, quite a peculiar sign itself, but he didn't really get to enjoy the ordinary life like he used to, did he. Maybe it was a typical occurrence for this daytime, and he played the role of an anomaly.

The sky lacked any colour, veiling everything with murky shadows. One could not tell the difference between morning and evening, the persistent drizzling adding to the sensation of misery.

Nothing could spoil Paul's mood, though, not on his first official free day after finishing the album. The heels collided with the wet pavement in a precise rhythm, offering him a distraction from the object shoved inside his coat. He hoped nobody recognised him or bothered to take a picture, how on earth he would explain his visit to a sex shop. 

~~~~

Once safely inside his flat, clad in dry clothes and stomach warmed by a cup of tea, Paul sat back on the sofa, pointedly ignoring the thin book he had purchased. Not that he could even jokingly call himself a prude, not with years of tagging after Lennon, anyway. But since the fame offered them to try basically everything they fancied, those places had lost the hallmark of thrill and novelty.

If anything, today's plan was to browse antique shops and flea marks for suitable interior decor. Not to sail through what appeared to be an endless line of dildos, vibrators, paddles and other equipment. But the shop caught Paul's attention with its subtlety, velvet drapes shielding its content from prying eyes, only the petite inscription Ergötzen on the door letting visitors know what they'd gotten themselves into.

Despite his common sense hissing at him to retreat, Paul pushed the doorknob down and entered. 

If the outer appearance contradicted every cliche assumption about that sort of place, the interior knocked Paul's breath out. Had he been intoxicated, he would have easily believed he just travelled back to the 18th century. The shop was more spacious than he had estimated from his street position, easily stretching ahead of him in the dim light. It smelled like secret affairs and expensive tobacco, and only when the initial shock subsided, Paul could distinguish various toys and objects he couldn't place anywhere.

He croaked a small hello before noticing he was speaking to no one, save for a figure of a woman rummaging through a section at the end. Could be an illusion as well, one never knew in a place like that. He should turn on his heel and forget this mishap.

"Bißchen overwhelming, nicht wahr?"

Paul would always remember the moment as the one enlightening him of what a stroke might be like. Especially when he whipped his head around to see an elderly lady, scrawny as a bird, two heads shorter than himself, with eyes so black and gaze so intense he felt himself shrinking, unable to move.

"Y-yes, I guess." He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Hello."

The lady laughed, swiftly lighting a cigarette.

"Hello to you too, anything particular you are interested in?"

Paul's cheeks heated up with speed comparable to Olympic runners. Christ, did he look like someone who browsed those places in his leisure time? How came a woman older than his da could make him nervous?

"Ehmm, no, no, I-," he chuckled to give himself a mental shake. "I was just, god, er, around, I guess. Never noticed your shop, that is."

"Don't be ashamed, curiosity doesn't deserve it. Schau dich um, at least, something could catch your attention."

Hesitantly, Paul nodded, scratching his cheeks to persuade the blood going away, and started the exploration.

It was far away from his Hamburg experience, no flashy magazines with tits and cunts on display. Rather, following the suit of the owner, it lured one in, elegantly. The shelves made out of expensive wood taunting customers with their contents. Ancient paintings, capturing raunchy scenes, adorning the walls, together with small statues. 

His fingertips grazed luxurious lingerie, another wave of embarrassment shooting to his face when John's body came into his mind. It didn't matter people like them didn't end up in jail anymore, the assumption of everybody being heterosexual by the device was enough to make Paul cringe at himself. Contrary to his partner, who'd blossomed since his public coming-out, Paul's head throbbed with intrusive thoughts -- Would his father be more proud If both of his sons appreciated the opposite gender? Could it be that their relationships drag the group down? And, most importantly, was he capable of making his John truly happy?

In an attempt to bring himself back to the real world, Paul stumbled to the near sofa (how convenient was that?), shedding his coat and carrying a random publication about eroticism in 20th-century art as a guise. He would wait here politely for 20 minutes before fleeing the forsaken place, yes.

He woke up to the sound of his own head colliding with the table, the last weeks of social events taking their toll. Immediately, he composed himself, taking in his surroundings and releasing a shuddering breath upon noticing there was no other customer to be found. Glancing at his watch, he learned his 20 minutes had turned into almost an hour. He should buy something more than a shabby book, what kind of customer would fall asleep in the environment this sensual. 

"Rested well, I presume?"

There she was again, eyes twinkling without malice, carrying a trail with 2 cups. Paul nodded dumbfoundedly. 

"Figured tea could help you to freshen up. Tut dir gut." She gestured to the other cup. "Mir auch, wenn Sie mir erlauben."

Paul only nodded again as if deprived of a voice, and for a moment neither of them spoke. The tea was strong and hot, luring him out of his post-slumber state, warming him like a knitted blanket.

"I think I also figured out what you are looking for."

Paul's mouth opened up to tell the woman off, he wasn't looking for anything, thank you very much, but his curious nature raised his eyebrows, wordlessly pleading for her to continue.

"It's power." 

He giggled, cursing himself for even assuming she would offer him some mysterious hindsight to his psyché. As the Beatle he didn't lack in that department. One snap with a finger, et voilà, things moved, people smiled, everything was possible. Of course, it could be draining at times, even for a control freak like himself, but that was the price for fame, wasn't it? 

"Unfortunately, you are wrong, dear, don't need any more of that." He smiled, relishing the feeling of finding firm footing again.

"Natürlich, having power is not a problem for you, Paul, but it's the art of letting go you seem to lack."

His widened eyes prompted a smug smirk before she continued.

"And it is exhausting sometimes, nicht wahr? With the people expecting you to act a certain way. With you straining to please them. How does John feel about that?"

Was this real? Did that grandma just single-handedly expose not only his identity but his relationship with his song-writing partner? Something even their closest friends had to be personally alerted by the duo. Well, maybe apart from Ringo, the poor lad had walked on them shagging, not further explanation needed.

"You, you know my-"

"Yes."

"And about John and-"

"Genau."

"But-but you aren't going to tell anybody. The press, I mean."

She only smiled at him, shaking her head.

"Of course not, secrets are the heart of a job like this. At my age, with my money, there is nothing appealing about starring tabloids with crumbs of gossip, is it? Besides-" She took a gulp, eyeing the young man amusedly. "Your manager doesn't seem shy about getting me deported."

That emitted a laugh from Paul, not exactly soothing his worries, but easing the atmosphere.

"Yeah, yeah, Brian is tougher than he lets on."

He frowned when he noticed how late it was. 2 hours since his entrèe, peculiar, taking into account they just sipped tea. He dug his wallet, the gesture not going unnoticed by his companion. Immediately, she waltzed to the counter, wrapping the books in paper before hiding them in a plain paper bag. Handing it back to him without even mentioning the price.

"On the house." She exclaimed when she noticed his uneasiness. "To apologise for even raising the suspicion I'd be indiscreet."

Paul still folded a banknote, his dad's lecture on manners echoing in his ears.

"Thank you, Mrs.?"

"Keller, Frau Keller, it is, I have a feeling you'll come back, though, spend a lot of money, too."

"Maybe." Paul smiled despite not considering it even for a second, voluntarily thinking of feeling like a little boy again? Funny. 

~~~~

He watched a movie whose name escaped his notion. Still, the book lingered where he had placed it. He had the same feeling tickling his spine as when Frau Keller questioned him wordlessly with her eagle-like eyes.

Reluctantly, lips pursed in an attempt to steady himself for future events, he clutched the object, fingers inspecting the rough cover before opening it on a random page. 

_ Oh god. _

There was a picture of two men. (Could it get any worse?) One clad fully, while the other's body exposed itself to the reader. A blush crept up Paul's face when he realised the predicament of the naked man. He was, in fact, tied to a spacious bed, each of his limbs restricted by a rope, his body taunt on the silk sheets, fully exposed. 

Paul slammed the book shut when he noticed the rapid speed of his heart. Only to open it again, observing it even more closely. The author must be devoted to his art, for the whole drawing consisted of tiny details, almost looking like a photo. He could see the blush on the men's faces, flexed muscles on the lying one's legs, furrowed brows and straining erection... _ what the fuck.  _ Paul's own cock stirred in his slack, and he averted his gaze to the other fella. Hooded eyes, ruffled hair, trousers tented,  _ alright,  _ clutching a feather? It didn't take him long to figure out they indulged in some kind of tickling torture. As someone extremely sensitive to any similar ministrations, Paul could only shudder, imagining himself as the victim.

He knew he should stop, not venture further, but somehow he couldn't help himself. His eyes closed on their own accord, presenting him with a blank space for anything he pleased. He imagined himself being exposed on the huge bed in John's flat, arms pulling at the restraints without avail. He could picture John's face expression very well, too, the mixture of fondness and hunger completed with something he was yet to recognise. 

His hand sneaked smoothly inside his trousers, rubbing his half-mast member, as the invisible feather trailed down from his throat to his chest. Leaving him shivering and squirming, John's raspy laugh joining the sound of his ragged breath. "Ticklish, eh?" He mocked, observing carefully the impact it has on Paul, the feather circling the skin dangerously near to his nipples. 

His own hand moved steadily up and down, bringing him closer to the orgasm, as the other Paul tried to scoot away from the devil's tool as well as to get some kind of friction. Just when John sat back on his thighs to restrict any momentum, the feather brushing the pebbled numb, Paul whined out loud, the helplessness, the imaginary teasing, everything combined with the slick sound of his own hand pushed him over the brim and he came, lewd sounds escaping his mouth.

He blinked groggily to wake up himself, wincing when he recalled what exactly he wanked to. Reluctantly, Paul stretched himself to get nearby tissues to get rid of the evidence before making his way to the bathroom.

To his immense surprise, he did feel pleasantly tired, not a single thought regarding the next album occupying his head.

Maybe he should stop underestimate elderly ladies. And ask John. Maybe.

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what's gotten into me, I had this on my mind for a long, long time, but finally, in yet another lockdown managed to sit down and...create this? Anyway, please, don't tell my dogs, let them live in the illusion of their owner being a decent human. 
> 
> title is inspired by this song
> 
> let me know what you think (y'know, boost that ego of mine :)))


End file.
